The Civil War is History

When we moved to north Georgia one of the cultural conditions I expected to find was remnants of the spirit of the southern attitude regarding the Civil War. There are physical reminders of the war everywhere, in monuments, museums, antique shops, and even cannons both real and replica in front yards. Occasionally cars are seen with Confederate flags attached, or on bumper stickers. But I have yet to meet anyone who speaks about the war with any indication of spirit or emotion. Many people in the area will mention that they had ancestors who fought and sometimes were killed in the war but it's done in a matter-of-fact tone with no more emphasis than if they were commenting on the weather. 

That's not the attitude I saw when I did a personal Civil War tour 55 years ago. I clearly remember a Shiloh Battlefield guide continually emphasizing the "valiant actions" of southern officers and regiments, while pointing out the panic retreat of the Federal forces. He concluded by saying something to the effect that it was pure luck that Federal reinforcements arrived just in time to avert disaster, and to force the Confederate troops to retreat in good order.

An even more vivid memory is of an incident during my tour that occurred in Mississippi. I was in Natchez to see the antebellum mansions, one of which was General Grant's headquarters. If I remember correctly, Natchez chose not to defend the city when Federal forces arrived and thus sustained no damage. A few days later I was in Vicksburg, a city about 75 miles north of Natchez. Vicksburg did defend itself and finally surrendered after a lengthy siege and sustaining massive destruction. 

I was taking a tour of mansions, guided by an older, white-haired woman in a peach colored dress. Her manner and speech was aristocratic, and I could easily imagine her as the grand dame of Vicksburg in the 1850s. For some forgotten reason I mentioned to her that I had been touring mansions in Natchez. She paused, then turned her head slowly in the direction of Natchez, then just as slowly turned back to me and with a voice absolutely dripping with disdain said, "At least we fought."

That was 55 years ago and the war had ended only 100 years earlier. For her it is possible, even likely, that a grandfather or maybe even her father had fought in Vicksburg's trenches. I can understand her pride. The south had lost the war but her attitude had not been defeated.

Today the war is 155 years in the past and most people are at least four generations removed from it. As I mentioned, there are still many physical reminders of the war and there are lots of reenactments in many towns, but the personal pride and emotional attachment to the war are gone. No where is that more evident to me than in the current movement to remove Confederate monuments. I had expected to see massive protests when city governments in southern states began removing monuments, and usually at night. To my knowledge there hasn't been any protests. 

To me those monuments and the preservation of battlefields represent a period of time in the history of our country. To try to erase them and what they represent is wrong. The vast majority of Confederate soldiers and many officers were not plantation owners, didn't own slaves and were fighting because they felt a fierce loyalty toward their states. With each passing generation the  memory of those men and women and why they fought is fading. 

Those monuments are not hurting anything. They are not being used as rallying points for the KKK or other white supremacist groups, that in practical terms exist in name only, the few so-called members being taken seriously by no one. The south is not going to rise again militarily, nor attempt to again enslave blacks. In fact I will go so far as to say that the removal of Confederate memorabilia is just another facet of the political correctness era we live in. 

I am not attempting to make an impassioned plea for the southern cause. I am a northerner. I have many ancestors on my maternal side who fought and died as Federal soldiers. What I am trying to say is that Federal or Confederate, the soldiers, the women who knitted clothing, nursed and fed their wounded soldiers all felt the same love for their countries and way of life. To try to rewrite history, to remove physical reminders of that history does a disservice to those brave people. Let's don't forget them.

An Objective Look at Gun Ownership

There seems to be a lot of divisive issues in the news lately with politics in the spotlight, but also immigration, Confederate Civil War memorials and renewed debate about abortion. Another hot topic is guns and gun ownership. Based on absolutely nothing I have the feeling that most people are neutral regarding guns and the Second Amendment. Those who aren't neutral have very strong opinions; they either love or hate guns. Period.

I like guns. One of the saddest times of my life was when I was forced to sell my collection of 17 handguns, rifles and shotguns. We were moving to Peru and I did not have sales receipts for any of the guns. Attempting to take 17 guns through Peruvian customs without proof of ownership would have been a nearly impossible task, and if it were accomplished the tax fees would have been astronomical. I could find no one in Wisconsin who would hold the guns for me, either because they considered guns in a house to be dangerous, or they didn't want the responsibility of holding a rather expensive collection in their homes for an unknown period of time.

For both anti and pro gun people it's difficult to look at guns objectively...to separate emotion from reason. Mass school and mall shootings can't be looked at unemotionally. Innocent men, women and children have been killed. A standard pro-gun defense is that, "Guns don't kill people, people kill people." Using that as a defense is in my opinion just plain stupid. Guns, in the hands of psychopaths and terrorists do kill people. Relying on the Second Amendment is nearly as foolish. Any reasonable person reading that  amendment would realize that it was written at a time when there was no standing army, or at least not one capable of defending the country decisively if attacked.

There are millions of guns in homes across this country. I saw something on the news several days ago...I've searched the internet but can't find anything on it, where someone in law enforcement said something to the effect that guns in the hands of law-abiding citizens is a great asset to any police department. I don't know if that is the general feeling or not of law enforcement people but if it is, that is a powerful statement in favor of gun ownership. 

But how does an individual explain, and given the climate these days, justify his or her interest in guns? It's difficult to do. How does a fisherman explain why he's out on the lake at sun up, anticipating that heart thumping sensation when the hit happens, and the thrill of the battle, or the enjoyment of releasing the behemoth? How does a hunter explain the feeling of time stopping when that buck starts to move from behind a spruce tree, and the emotional high that follows a well-placed shot? How does a golfer explain being on the course at the crack of dawn just to hit a little ball? 

In a small local newspaper last week there was a photo of a high school rifle team that had won a competition. I think there were about 20 team members, both boys and girls. I wonder how they got involved with guns and shooting, and if they're able to explain the elation that comes from firing a 1" group? 

I appreciate guns for the gun itself. A quality gun is to me an attractive piece of well engineered equipment. My favorite gun was a Colt Single Action Army in 44 long-colt caliber. It is an exact duplicate in every way to the gun carried in the old west. Just holding it and looking at it would take me back to the glory days of Wichita and Tombstone. Hearing the solid 'click' as I cocked the hammer, and feeling the considerable recoil when the trigger was pulled was a rewarding experience. And I usually hit the target.

My most accurate gun was a Dan Wesson in .357 magnum with interchangeable barrels. I had 4", 6" and 8" barrels. With the 8" barrel I could hit coffee cans out to 100 yards. I occasionally carried it when dear hunting but wasn't lucky enough to see a buck when I had the gun with me. 

It's difficult to have a reasonable discussion about guns with someone who doesn't like or is afraid of guns. I have seen women hurriedly leave the room when I brought out a new gun to show to a friend. You can't have a discussion when that degree of emotion and fright is involved. I like to imagine a scenario where if I was involved in a gun discussion, I could show people the photo below.

My question to them would be, which rifle is designed for hunting and which is designed for killing people? I'd be willing to bet that most people would respond that the top rifle is for hunting and the bottom for killing people, because it conjures up the dreaded AK series most bad guys seem to prefer. Then I would explain the facts to them.

Both rifles are .223 caliber. They fire the same bullet. Both are semi-automatic, meaning both shoot each time the trigger is pulled. There is no functional difference between them. Would this information make any difference to those pushing to ban the AK style rifles? Probably not. Too often with us humans emotion trumps reason.

The south has a lot of good things going for it and one is the conservative attitude toward gun ownership. But I wonder if the south would be strong enough politically to fend off a Federal government mandate to ban all guns. I talked with a gun shop owner who said that people are telling him that they're buying a gun because they're concerned that a ban could happen. 

In Chattanooga there are reports of shootings several times every week, a common occurrence in most major cities. And often the report will include an interview with a neighborhood resident exclaiming that, "...I never imagined something like that happening in this neighborhood." I can't imagine it happening in our neighborhood either, but it could. I'm thinking that maybe it's time for me to get back into guns. A Ruger semi-auto handgun in .40 S&W sounds about right.

The Meaning of Life

The Meaning of Life is the title of a movie directed by Terry Jones, who died recently at the age of 77. Terry was a founding member of the Monty Python group. The men who comprised the group were masters of the absurd. Their British humor while satirizing any and all situations (nothing was sacred to them) was to me both hilarious and occasionally thought provoking. To this day if I am asked what my all-time favorite move is, my reply is Monty Python's "The Holy Grail." 

Terry died of a rare form of dementia. If I had the power to eliminate one disease, that would be it. Cancer and heart disease kill, but dementia first robs you of your identity, your ability to reason, your memories, even the ability to recognize those you love, and then kills you. I can't think of a more insidious way to finish a life that should properly end in peace and reflection.

The meaning of life is also a philosophical subject that has been discussed and debated for probably thousands of years. The subject usually arises when the question is asked, "Why are we here?" In my view that is not a legitimate question because it presumes a collective purpose for life. How did we get here is a proper question. There is much known about the evolutionary process that led to homo sapiens, but we're still far from the answer of how life began. 

Other than that we all seem to desire happiness I don't think there is a collective purpose or meaning to life. It is my belief that each of us has the opportunity to determine our own reason for existence, and to live our lives according to that belief. I mentioned in an earlier post that I viewed life as having certain milestones, those being birth, education, getting a job, leaving home, getting married, having kids, retiring and then dying. We have choices, if we choose to make them as to how we prepare and deal with each of those milestones. 

Many people don't make choices, simply drifting to and through each marker, just sort of waiting to see each day what fate has in store for them. If they're happy, fine. We each have our own personal definition of meaning, purpose and happiness. And it doesn't take wealth or status to achieve them.

Some map out their lives, planning for each of the milestones. They want to control the course of their lives, not trusting to chance. These people tend to be confident, forward looking, imaginative and driven. They set goals early, develop action plans and stick to them. They usually succeed. 

Some folks might like a little more structure to their lives but are unsure how to get it. There was a time in my mid-twenties when I was undecided about what direction to go vocationally. I took advantage of a free service offered by the state of Wisconsin and met several times with an employment counselor. His name was Chuck and he was an impressive man. He helped me to lay out a plan that was really nothing I hadn't heard of, but coming from him it had substance and importance that I hadn't thought of before. 

His approach was to match interests with ability and then decide on the practically of the results. There are a wide range of interest and ability tests available, and he administered several of each to me. In most cases there will be several interests that rise to the top, and assuming you have the ability to match those interests you have to make a choice. Now here is where practicality enters the picture. 

There are the four basics of life that have to be considered; food, water, shelter and clothing. If the test results show that the thing that most interests you is picking up pretty stones on a beach, and the ability testing shows that you can handle it, you have to ask yourself if this vocation will pay for the basics. The point is that you have to settle on something realistic. Now maybe you can come up with a way to make a living picking up pretty stones. If so, go for it.    

Once you've settled on an interest you like that matches with your ability, and believe it will pay the rent, then you've got a goal and the next step is a plan get there. That plan will normally involve education and/or apprenticeship. It may involve some problem solving regarding time or finances, but there is always a way if you want it bad enough. And really, that's the point to the plan that Chuck helped me to develop. He could't execute it for me. I had to do that. I had to believe strongly enough in the plan and in myself  to take that first step and then stick with it. And to overcome the inevitable obstacles that are part of everyone's life.

Occasionally later in life I would think about Chuck's plan and how it not only applied to employment, but to many things, like choosing a university, a marriage partner, a hobby, and retirement. The planning portion is not hard. It's the execution that's difficult. What makes it easier is always keeping your goal in mind, and how it applies to your definition of meaning, purpose and happiness. And that only you can make it happen

The Evolution of the Universe According to Me

The theory of the evolution of the universe is properly known as the LAMDA-CDM theory. More commonly among cosmologists and physicists it is referred to as the Standard Model. To those of us outside of the scientific community it is simply the Big Bang Theory. Notice that I wrote that the theory deals with the evolution of the universe, not the origin. There are no theories on the origin, only a few wild guesses based on nothing. It is entirely possible that a million generations from now there will still be no understanding of the origin. 

To understand and be conversant with the Standard Model requires a phd in both physics and math, and several years of study. That excludes most of us. To complicate matters even more, those who do understand the theory say that it cannot be conveyed in common language; that it can only be explained mathematically. Albert Einstein once said that, "If you can't explain it simply, you don't understand it well enough", but I guess that doesn't count anymore.

There is much about the Standard Model (henceforth I'm going to use SM to save typing) that defies common sense, reasoning and experience. Many scientists say that those things including intuition have to be put aside, that we must follow where the math leads us. When I think about the universe, I can't put those things aside. Common sense, reasoning, intuition and experience are all I have. Which is why my universe is much more simple than the SM. 

For example, in my universe the sun rises in the east. An astronomer would tell me that is not what's happening. He/she would say that the earth is orbiting the sun at a specific rate and while doing so is spinning on an axis, and that the declination of that axis....yeah, yeah, yeah. The sun rises in the east. Good enough. 

Okay...enough prelude. On to the universe according to me. Well, wait a minute. I just had a thought that maybe I should put an asterisk at the end of every sentence I write that disagrees with the SM. But now I'm thinking that if I do that, there will be asterisks following nearly every sentence. Not a good idea. 

The SM says that in the beginning there was an extremely hot, dense glob of material. This material encompassed everything, including the ingredients for mass, and space itself. And because space was inside the glob, there was no outside. The glob had no boundaries, no edges or ends. That's hard to conceptualize. So is what comes next. The glob was just sitting there when suddenly something triggered it to inflate rapidly. We're talking about going from the size of a pea to the size of the earth in a tiny fraction of a second. Don't take the size references literally, it's just an analogy to suggest the magnitude of change. This part of the SM theory is called Inflation. Not all scientists agree that it happened. There are bits and pieces of evidence that suggest that it did. 

If you've followed this so far, you may be asking, "If the glob was everything; if there was no outside, what did the glob inflate into?" I can't answer that question as far as the SM model deals with it, and I have never come close to understanding the scientists who have voiced an answer. I have my own explanation, one that satisfies me. 

Space was not enclosed in that glob. Space is nothing, as in no-thing. Nothing can not be confined. Space is infinite and eternal. Those are concepts that are hard to deal with. Everything we know of, organic and inorganic, people, mountains and planets have dimensions, come into existence and cease to exist. But space is nothing. It is not subject to any laws, rules or regulations of nature or physics. It's just one big, endless parking lot for things with mass. I have no problem imagining space being eternal and endless. If everything in the universe suddenly and completely disappeared, space would still be there waiting for its next tenants. 

Anyway, the glob had hardly recovered from inflation when a fraction of a second later the Big Bang hit it. The Big Bang was not an explosion. Let me resort to another analogy to explain it. You're at a party, holding your margarita (that frozen concoction that helps you hang on) in your hand when someone bumps into you. You hold on to the glass but the drink hits the floor. The ice, tequila, lime juice and lime slice scatter all over. There was no explosion, boom, flash or fire. The drink simply kind of got pulled apart when it hit the floor. That's what the Big Bang did to the glob. 

The drink ingredients quickly stopped moving and dried up. The glob ingredients cooled and coalesced, forming all of the objects we see today. A difference is that the spilled glob ingredients never stopped moving. Supposedly they are moving faster now than they did when the Big Bang occurred, but that's not something I want to get into. It involves dark matter and dark energy, things that are still unproven and being debated.

One curious concept of the SM is that all objects, except for those gravitationally bound are moving away from each other. An observer on earth will see everything in the night sky moving away from the planet except for those objects in our solar system. An observer in a far distant planet will see the same thing. How is that possible? It would seem that someone would have to see something moving toward them. This phenomenon would seem to imply that each object; every star and planet is the center of the universe. It's something I don't understand. There are some analogizes that attempt to explain the issue, chief among them the Balloon and Raisin Bread analogies but their premise is that the Big Bang happened everywhere, which contradicts my position that space is infinite and that the glob was located in a specific location.
But not all objects are moving away from each other. For example our own Milky Way galaxy and the Andromeda galaxy are on a collision course. Which is why it's always a good idea to wear seat belts. 

I can sort of buy most of the SM theory, though I and many scientists hold out that it may someday be proven wrong and replaced. I don't agree with the SM treatment of space, as already stated, nor do I agree with the model's concept of time. To me the SM presents time in so many exotic ways that my mind spins trying to take it all in. I like my version of time better.

Time is nothing more than change. More precisely, change is time. Everything in this universe changes, changes in size, speed, color, location, age, etc. Time is a measurement of those changes. If there were no change there would be no time. Both change and time are not observer dependent. No one has to see those things for them to take place. If suddenly everything in the universe disappeared except for one tiny atom, and one single electron continued to orbit the nucleus of that atom, time would still exist. Eliminate that one remaining atom and you eliminate time. To me it is that simple.

If it hasn't occurred to you by now, there is still one big, huge, monstrous question remaining. Where did that original glob come from? I can think of only two answers. Either the glob always existed, or it came from nothing. Neither answer is acceptable. Both violate all know laws of physics, and all knowledge and experience gathered throughout history. Maybe someday there will be an answer...maybe not. There is a theory called the Big Crunch that postulates that the expansion of the universe will reverse, collapsing in on itself until nothing is left. I don't know how many billions of years away that is projected to occur, but hopefully not before we've discovered the origin of the glob that started it all.

Sounding off on a few pet peeves

Our return to the states and choice of northwest Georgia went smoothly; much smoother than we expected. We soon felt at home and comfortable, but we did notice what I will call subtle changes in the ten years we had been gone. On the national level we noticed changes in television programming including the program offerings and the amount and types of advertising. On the local scene there were some instances that didn't sit too well with us. Nothing earth-shattering but they did kind of stick in our craw. I want to comment about them but first let me say that I am not a cynic or skeptic. I do admit to occasional sarcasm but most of the time it is tongue-in-cheek. Let me start with television.

For example, yesterday morning I was watching a news program, and at the same time reading the little headline banner that scrolls across the bottom of the screen. There was something written about Trump (what a surprise) and the fire in Australia, but sandwiched in between was, "Meghan Markle and Prince Harry will no longer use their royal titles." My immediate thought was, "Wow!...how am I going to get through the day with that on my mind!, and what will that startling revelation do to the Dow-Jones average!" I mean come on, who but the royal family would give a fig about that? Surely there is something of more importance in the world that could have occupied that space in the banner.

I spend a lot of time thinking about human activity in general. Often the human condition, and by that I mean the things we do, value, believe, and the things that interest us puzzles me. Back to that news program I mentioned. About one-third or more of it is interrupted by commercials, many of which are by local law firms. Their message usually goes something like this:

"Have you, through no fault of your own recently pricked your gum with a wooden toothpick made by the Acme Toothpick Company? If so contact us immediately and let us fight for the compensation you justly deserve for pain and mental anguish, lost wages, and the emotional suffering of you, your family, your dog, pet canary and houseplants. And your dentist, priest, mail carrier, check-out clerk at the grocery store, car mechanic, and your distant cousin Norm living in Fairbanks who hasn't seen nor communicated with you in years but often thinks fondly of you. Call us day or night because, justice.......never.......sleeps!" Oh boy! 

Did you ever notice how the word "big" is a dirty word with these guys? They're ready to take on "big business" and "big oil", and "big government" and "big insurance companies" for you. I have no doubt they would be willing to tackle "big toothpicks." How is it they never mention "big law firms?"

Another group of advertisers is those selling one of the eight zillion over-the-counter drugs. These products are supposed to help alleviate every know disease and as an added bonus will ward off diseases not yet discovered. To me these claims are just as unethical as those of the lawyers. Each year we spend billions of dollars for over-the-counter drugs, creams, salves, liquids and patches for which there is absolutely no medical proof that they work. Even the innocuous vitamin and mineral supplements dutifully taken by millions everyday have not been proven to provide any benefit at all. The next time you go into your health store for turtle mucous pills or whatever, pick up a bottle; any bottle and read the label. This is what it will say:

"This statement has not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration. This product is not intended to diagnose, treat, cure or prevent any disease." 

That's pretty clear. Whenever I get into a discussion of this nature and mention the above, the other person will usually respond with, "Well, I know my body and this stuff works." That always ends the discussion. That person has voiced a personal belief, and a personal belief cannot be refuted. It's always been my thought that a personal belief should be based at least partially on some sort of quantifiable evidence, but that's me.

There are towns and villages in Peru where you can hire a shaman to come to your house to deal with whatever illness you have. He will have many cures, some involving magical objects, smoke, incantations and the like. One of them may be to have a gerbil run over the patient's body, taking in to its own body whatever is causing the illness. The evidence for the success of this treatment is just as strong as the evidence for vitamin supplements and the other OTCs. And for any doubters the patient can also add, "Well, I know my body and this gerbil works."

While on the topic of medicine, let me comment on an incident that happened shortly after out arrival in Georgia. After we were settled in we thought it would be a good idea to establish a relationship with a medical clinic and primary care doctor. I did an internet search and found one nearby that seemed popular with good reviews. I phoned and explained to the woman who answered that we were new to the area, had found the clinic on the internet and wanted to make a get-acquainted appointment with one of the doctors. What I expected was for her to say something like welcome, how do you like the area, and thanks for calling our clinic. That would take maybe twenty seconds. That's not what she said. 

The first words out of her mouth were a monotone, "What insurance do you have?" I immediately formed an image of white walls, white plastic furniture and white plastic peoplebots. I don't think I intentionally intended to do it, but I blurted out, "That's your first words to me...what insurance do I have." Her response in the same monotone was that they had to determine if they could accept me as a patient. I responded that I had determined that I could not accept their facility as my clinic, said goodbye and hung up. Maybe my response was unreasonable, but I believe that she, being the first point of contact with a new potential customer did not do a good job of representing that clinic. I wonder if they ever talk about customer focus in that facility? In contrast, the clinic, its staff, and the doctor we have now all get an A grade from us in competence and customer focus. 

There is one more medical incident to talk about, and I admit that this one still grinds on me. My vision in both eyes was starting to blur on the edges. Not too bad, but it was there. And the halos from cars and streetlights at night were starting to interfere with my night driving. An eye doctor confirmed that I needed cataract surgery on both eyes. He explained the procedure and showed a video to me of patients removing the after-surgery patches from their eyes and exclaiming how wonderful it was to see normally again. To cut to the chase, when he removed the patches from my eyes, everything was a blur. He had screwed up my eyes. His explanation was that eye doctors took a series of measurements, entered them into a computer and an algorithm spit out the correct lenses to use. He said my eyes were unusual in that they ,"...didn't fit the standard bell-shaped curve", so the wrong lenses were put in. I asked him if he now knew what the correct lenses were and he said he did but that to remove the lenses now in place he would have to cut them in half before removing them and that was too much risk. 

What bothered me was his casual attitude, as if he had no responsibility, and what happened to me is just the way it goes. Well that's not just the way it goes. I had serviceable vision when I walked into his office, and now I had none. He said he could correct the entire problem with glasses. After three weeks the glasses arrived. They didn't work. They gave me distance vision, but everything near was blurry. I went back to the clinic and his assistant measured my eyes again. I think the doctor did not want to face me again. A new set of glasses were ordered, and this time they worked. But now I am totally dependent on glasses. I wasn't in the past. The doctor has recently retired, and in my experience and opinion, that is probably the best service he has provided to the community.

I'm sure that the lawyers and television pill pushers I mentioned are nation and maybe even world wide. There is no escaping them. The local things I commented on are in the past. There is a lot that is pleasant and feels good about this area, and I intend to write about them as time goes on. 

A Trip of a Lifetime

I have been a die-hard fisherman since the age of ten, starting with a cane pole and worms and soon progressing to casting rods and artificial baits. I used ultra-light spinning outfits with small Mepps spinners and Beetle Spins for panfish. For smallmouth bass I used a medium weight spinning combination, but for the bigger fish; largemouth bass, northern pike and muskies I went with casting rods and reels. Early on I fished for anything and everything depending on my mood and what was biting at the time. But after awhile, like many fishermen I focused almost exclusively on muskies. I like to eat fish, especially fresh-caught fish, but the unwritten code with musky fishermen is catch-and-release, which I fully support, so when I wanted fish to eat I'd bring out the ultra-light equipment and catch a meal of crappie of bluegill.

When Maribel came to the United States I taught her to fish and she absolutely loved it. There was a lake only 10 minutes from our house that was the closest you could get to a fish factory for panfish, pike and bass. It was she who usually said, "Let's hook up the boat and go." We left that all behind us when we moved to Peru in 2008, including the boat and motor. We moved to Georgia in July of 2017 and haven't done any fishing at all. We both miss it. Given my age, and the lack of lakes in the area as opposed to Wisconsin I don't think that a boat is in our future. I've talked to people and looked for places to shore fish for panfish but the opportunities are really limited. There are public fishing piers on the Tennessee River but from what I've seen they don't produce much action. So when my son phoned last June to suggest a musky fishing trip in Canada with he and my grandson I jumped at the chance. I wasn't happy with the thought of leaving Maribel behind, but she encouraged me to go.

So one day in July we arrived in Morson, Ontario, Canada on the shore of the fabled Lake of the Woods. It was a 20 minute drive in my son's boat to the resort, which is located on an island, of which there are hundreds. A GPS and depth finder are absolutely essential to navigate that body of water. It is huge and treacherous to those who don't know it. The name of the resort is Grassy Narrows and I highly recommend it.

After eating breakfast at the lodge we were usually on the water by 8:00 AM. It's not necessary to be out there at the break of dawn; muskies hit all day long. The staff at the lodge packed a lunch for us which we either ate in the boat or on one of the islands. We would return to our cabin in mid-afternoon to stretch and take a break but were back on the water shortly fishing until dark

In the evening the guests gathered in the lodge to talk about the day's fishing. We'd compare results, baits (most favored the Double 8) and talk about fishing in general.

We were there four days. My son and grandson caught muskies and pike. I didn't catch a musky but led our group in the number of trophy pike, with three reaching 40 inches.

Even tough I didn't catch any this was without a doubt the best musky fishing trip I have ever had. Everything about it was perfect, topped off with the presence of my son and grandson.

I'm going to make another effort to find some place here in Georgia to fish from the shore to catch fish to eat. I know Maribel would like that and so would I.

That's Music?

Five months ago I bit the bullet and bought a pair of hearing aids. It was time. I was tired of doing the leaning-closer-and-asking-what-did-you-say routine. Or having young female checkout clerks and waitresses sound like excited chipmunks and not understanding a word they said. Or having to turn up the television volume to a level Maribel couldn't handle. I won't bother with going into the detail of audiograms, audiologists, and the astronomic price of these things. If you've got hearing aids you know what I'm talking about. If they're in your near future...stand by for a shock. 

The afternoon I got my hearing aids I put them on and went out on the front porch. And I heard birds. Before the hearing aids I was able to hear the sounds of the more raucous birds like crows, hawks, owls and blue jays, but not the birds I was hearing now. In the past when we were out on the porch together Maribel would sometimes ask if I heard the birds singing. I never heard anything except for planes overhead or car traffic on the distant highway. The birds I was hearing now I had never heard here or in  Wisconsin, and their songs were beautiful. I don't know if bird songs can be classified as music, but some of what I was hearing sure sounded like music to me. 

I wonder if it was birds that first inspired humans to attempt music? Music has been a part of the human experience since the recording of history, and probably long before that. Why do we like music? Why is it so much a part of our lives? Music is nothing more than a combination of notes, composition and instruments, so what about that appeals to us? 

Not all music appeals to everyone. There are supposedly over 1,200 genres of music; genre being defined according to Wikipedia as, "...a conventional category that identifies some pieces of music as belonging to a shared tradition or set of conventions." Of those over 1200 genres I like about 10. Among those are easy listening, light jazz, some new age, some popular, and some classical. I used to like the close harmony groups like the Andrew and McGuire Sisters, and latter the Lettermen, Crew Cuts, and Four Lads but I don't think close harmony groups exist anymore, except for a few that reformed to cash in on the nostalgia craze. There was a lot of good music that doesn't exist anymore thanks to the advent of rock, and the other 'noise' genres that spawned from it. There are still some talented vocalists around but they've been relegated to the back of the bus by the shouters and screamers.

I remember some time ago on television when a young female contestant on American Idol was being tutored by Tony Bennett.  When she reached the final note of her song she started with the rapid screaming up an down thing. Tony stopped her, telling her to, "Hold on to that note...it's a good note." She looked at him in shocked disbelief. Hold on to a note? You don't do that these days. For one thing, it takes talent to sustain a note, and secondly the style now is to see how many notes can be screamed into a single musical bar. A good example is the constant butchering of the National Anthem by so-called vocal artists. You know what I'm talking about, "....the land of the freeeeeeeEeeeeeeEEeeeeeEEEEeeeeeEeEe", at which point we like idiots cheer and applaud, "....and the home of the braveeeeeeeeEeEeeeeeeeeEeeevvv." concluding with us doing more applauding and cheering.

I just don't get it. Why are we humans so quick to jump all over the latest fad in fashion, speech and mannerisms? I think it was about 30 years ago that the "Oh MY God" thing started up. And then the race was on to see how many different ways it could be said. OH.....my.....GOD was a favorite. So was OhMyGod. Then the shorthand version, OMG came out. Two weeks ago a middle-aged woman standing next to me in a grocery store picked up a can of something, looked at the price, muttered "omg" and put the can back. I really believe that there isn't a young to middle age person who can string three sentences together without slipping in some version of OMG. Or write something without lol. Or describe something without saying Great, Amazing, Astounding, Incredible, Awesome and on and on. What are they going to do when they really need a superlative to describe something? There won't be any left. They've all been used up...they've lost their impact. Okay, that's off my chest. Back to music.

Actually, I think I've said all I want to about music, except for this...it is my fervent wish that some day I will be watching television when suddenly the program is interrupted by a reporter excitedly exclaiming, "This just in! Rock, rap, heavy metal and all other related genres are dead! It is believed that all electrical instruments will soon follow!" I know it's not going to happen, but I can dream.  

Some Facts and Observations about Rossville, Georgia

Rossville is a city in Georgia's Walker County. It has a population of about 4,000. It was incorporated in 1905, though there has been a post office there since 1817 and its history goes back even further to 1785 when it was known as Poplar Springs. Like many communities in the south and northeast it was once a thriving city largely dependent on one major employer. In the northeast it was mostly paper mills that fueled the economy. Many of those mills are long gone and the towns are dead or dying.  In Rossville's case it was Peerless Woolen Mills. The mill closed in 1961. And the huge. sprawling complex, what remains of it sits there like a ghost. 

Whether Rossville is dead or not is a matter of opinion. There are no major or even modest employers that I know of. It's main street, Rossville Blvd is a collection of nondescript buildings, some occupied, some not, and most in various stages of decay. I believe I read that the city has a committee or commission that is charged with formulating a plan for renovating the town. I don't know how long it has been in existence. Some months ago there were public meetings I believe for the purpose of gathering citizen input. One citizen was very outspoken, saying something to the effect that the people of Chattanooga laughed at Rossville as one big junkyard. In my view that's not far off the mark. 

I don't know what it will take, or if it's even possible to revive Rossville. I understand that an individual or group of individuals has either bought or is proposing to buy the former woolen mill, and has plans to turn convert it into something, but I don't know what. I do know that many of those well intentioned proposals never get off the ground. Back to that 'junkyard' comment, when driving through Rossville I don't see anything, either in the so-called commercial district or residential neighborhoods that indicates any community or personal pride. The CDPs surrounding the town are just as bad.

The very first step in attempting any renovation is to clean up the town, building by building, house by house. There are homes not too far from ours where the front and back yards are so full of junk that I don't see how it's possible to walk in those yards. The houses are not in much better shape. Cleaning out all of that junk and pounding a few nails would make a world of difference. Some paint would complete the transformation. But the city has to do it's part. It needs to provide some basic funding for people who would like to improve their property (I have to believe they're out there), and enforce the few ordinances that are already in place. One of those ordinances, if I'm not mistaken prohibits more than one junk car in public view on private property. At one of those earlier meetings I mentioned, a proposal was made to prohibit all junk vehicles. And some people argued against it, saying they should have to right to have junk cars on their property, because they needed those cars for parts as they could not afford to buy a different car. 

Years ago the post office in Chiclayo, Peru had a sign on the wall saying, "Pobre no significa Sucio", which translates to Poor does not mean Dirty. 

When Maribel and I first looked at out house, we liked the neighborhood; there was no junk visible anywhere, we liked the house, and we liked the large lot. We did not like the condition of the lot. There were wood piles and piles of old bricks everywhere. A shed had half of its roof and part of a wall scattered in the yard. But we could see the potential. Now the yard is close to what we want it to be.

Gone are the wood and brick piles. Shrubs that had gone wild and were not salvageable have been removed. The shed has been pieced back together. Some trees have been cut down to make room for other more desirable trees. The angel below stands in the middle of a copse of young pecan and walnut trees. It is illuminated at night.

The smiling turtle below sits atop a pedestal that will be the centerpiece of a small oval flower garden in the spring. It too is illuminated at night. 

We have transformed this property from an ignored piece of land to an attractive landscape. We did all of the work ourselves. Total cost was about $50. 

I am not bragging. The whole point of this post is that anyone with a few hand tools and the willingness to do it can make their property attractive, and in doing so can increase the value of that property, and just maybe prompt your neighbor to do the same thing. And it could be that what was a seedy looking neighborhood becomes a source of community pride. And the more attractive the neighborhood, the more likely it is that home buyers and builders will become interested. And if that happens there will be more money in the community, and more money in the community may encourage small businesses and if that happens, who knows what Rossville would, could look like in the future.

But it's got to start with the city. Ugly streets with vacant buildings won't do it. The incentive for both individuals and businesses has got to be provided, either through inducements or regulations. That planning commission or whatever it is has got to get serious, starting with the enforcement of whatever ordinances are on the books. 

I'm not liking this bachelor thing

My wife Maribel has been in Peru for a month visiting family and friends. She'll be there for another two weeks. I could have gone with her but I don't feel ready to return to Peru, especially at this time of year when it's beastly hot and the sea breeze from the Pacific Ocean coats everything with a sticky coating that corrodes metal and adheres to everything including people.

My refrigerator is basically empty. I could hang a 'for rent' sign on it. And what remains probably should have been tossed a week ago. Maribel will remedy that situation when she gets back. She'll fill it up with junk food, like fruit and vegetables. I do have some left-over pizza, brats and hamburgers. I had carefully wrapped them in aluminium foil and forgotten them. If they don't smell too badly I'll attempt to eat them before she gets back. 

I use the microwave a lot. I like a bowl of Campbell soup with a sandwich. And it's easy...just add water, nuke it for 2 1/2 and there you go. I bought canned vegetables in an effort to 'eat healthy' but they're still on the shelf. Too much bother. First you have to put them in a container (warning!...the cheap stuff at Family Dollar or Dollar Tree is not microwavable. Don't do it!), then you nuke it for 2 1/2, then you need to drain it, which means you're using a strainer that has to be washed afterwards, and finally you have to add some seasoning and maybe some butter to give it some taste. It's just not worth the trouble. And I noticed that the vegetable cans are thicker than the soup cans. To compact a soup can all I need to do is step on it. With a vegetable can I need to stomp on it...several times. And if I'm wearing my thin soled canvas boat shoes it hurts like a son-of-a-gun. 

About twice a week Maribel sends photos. She's with friends at this restaurant or that ice cream shop; at a Nature Reserve at the foot hills of the Andes Mountains and a myriad of other places. In this photo she's visiting a friend at her condo on the beach at Pimentel.

Now that's not to say that I'm not getting out myself. Why...just yesterday I filled the car with gas. Last week I went to my doctor appointment. Twice in the last four weeks I went out to breakfast with Jim and Marge. Everyday I walk to the mail box to collect my "Current Resident" mail. Some days I walk to the fence at the back of the yard to give doggy treats to my neighbor's dog. In the following photo I'm doing one of my favorite bachelor activities...burning leaves from that damned water oak tree.

All the other trees we have; pecan, walnut, chestnut and catalpa all drop their leaves within a one-week period in late November. The water oak starts dropping in early December and hasn't yet finished. It's the middle of January. The carpet of leaves from that tree gets so thick and slippery that it's dangerous to walk in the yard. So about once a week I rake and burn. I figure I've got about two more cycles remaining.

I do have other options. I could go to the antique shops or walk our favorite trails. But for me that's not fun. If I see an interesting piece in an antique shop, or something of interest while walking a trail, it's more fun to share those things with someone. And the house is so quiet. I turn on the radio but I don't like the stuff they call music. I do have a CD with some of my favorite music that plays for just about an hour, but I've listened to it several times each day and have reached the point where it's too much of a good thing. Nights are worse, but fortunately there has been a ton of college and pro football games to watch to fill the evenings. 

It's only two more weeks. Soon I'll have a social life again, won't have to puzzle about how to fill my time, I'll be eating differently and the microwave will get a rest, and there will be singing from the kitchen or wherever Maribel happens to be. Life will be normal again. That's a good thing.

As Seen from Space

I've read that some astronauts have said/written that seeing the earth from space has had a profound effect on them. I've had a long-time interest in astronomy and cosmology, and I wonder if seeing the earth from space would have any sort of impact on me. 

Pretending for the moment that I'm an astronaut, what I see from my spaceship is a blue and white globe against a black background. And there's some brownish stuff but I can't be sure what it is. I don't see any aliens, alien space ships, gods, heavens or hells. I always found it interesting that the three groups who never report unidentified flying objects are astronomers, astronauts and airline pilots; the people who would most be expected to see UFOs if they existed. And yet people all over the world regularly report sightings, and some have even been abducted. It is my theory that there is a strong correlation between alien sightings and mind altering drugs, alcohol and a vivid imagination. Plus the potential for cash if the abductees can sell their story.

If I move my ship to a little lower orbit I can see geological features. The blue stuff is water, the white is clouds and the brownish stuff is land. I can see separate continents, and on some of those continents I see mountains. But that's about all that's visible from this altitude. Moving closer I can start to make out geographical features. There are mountains, valleys, forests, plains, glaciers, rivers and some large in-land lakes. 

Moving still closer I see man made features. There are cities, bridges, ships, planes, airports and large buildings. Risking one more orbit change; I don't want to be reported as a UFO sighting, I move my ship closer and, Aha!...I can see people! I watch them for a long time. There are a lot more similarities than differences in what they do. One of the things they do most, besides spending time on the internet is watch television. I can understand the interest in the internet. The attraction of the majority of television programming baffles me. Do the dozens if not hundreds of sit-coms and 'reality' shows really provide us with anything other than mindless entertainment, and a vehicle for marketing people to inundate us with silly commercials? Do the ad people who dreamed up the Allstate and Liberty Mutual commercials really believe we will buy their insurance because of a man imitating a dog, or the guy with Limu the Emu doing basically nothing other than uttering the same phrase over and over? What's even worse is to consider is that maybe we are responding to it. If so what does that say about us? I may have written this somewhere before but if so I think it's worth repeating. An old hunting friend would occasionally comment that, from an intellectual view we haven't progressed far from the caves. From what I am seeing I can't argue with that.

One thing that strikes me from my view in space is that with some slight differences peoples lives are basically the same. They're born, raised, get an education, get a job, leave home, get married, have kids, retire and die. It's kind of like watching a bee or ant colony, everybody doing the same thing day after day, year after year. One difference is that bees and ants have a communist form of government. No private property, no choices to make, everyone working for the common good. But an even bigger difference is that bees and ants have a common purpose, and if they thought about it, a common meaning. Humans don't have a collective meaning or purpose. Many people create their own purpose. Others simply go through life doing what humans do without giving thought to such matters. But sooner or later, whether having purpose or not, everyone is confronted with their mortality. With all of societies progress in medicine, technology and other fields, there is still no answer for death.

Some of the buildings I saw from my ship are churches. Churches symbolize societies attempt to address/alleviate the prospect of death by promoting the concept of life after death. We don't die. We simply cease to exist on this planet and 'pass on' to an eternal and better existence in another world. This is the concept that people pin their hopes on. They have to because that is all there is; either that or accept that death is the end.

From my spaceship I can't see that other world. Nor can I see the gods who created it or the souls who are already there. There has never been nor will there ever be contact between the two worlds, nor have emissaries ever bridged the cap between them, unless we allow the countless Virgin Mary appearances. But people know that the other world is there. It has to be. Because we don't want to die.  

From Tyre Lebanon to Rossville Georgia in 2300 Years

I have had a fascination with ancient Egypt ever since I can remember. There was a time when I could recite the names and reigning dates of each Pharaoh. I knew the dates of discovery of each important tomb uncovered in the Valley of the Kings. Now I've forgotten much of what I knew, and it's been years since I've read a book on Egyptian history, But I still never miss a documentary on television or any news articles about recent discoveries.

I always dreamed about going to Egypt and actually touching one of the pyramids of Giza, or the Sphinx, and maybe even buying some small artifact to bring home with me. Well, a trip to Egypt hasn't happened and probably never will. But I didn't have to go to Egypt to get and ancient relic.

I was 16 when I bought an Egyptian coin at Gimbels Department Store in 1956 with my second paycheck earned selling shoes during summer vacation. It cost $35 which was a lot of money at the time and why I needed two paychecks to do it. I kept it in a suede leather pouch in a dresser drawer when I left the house, but when I was home it was always in my pocket. I would take it out, hold and look at it and think about the people who made it and handled it all those many years ago, and what their lives might have been like. As I got older the coin spent less time in my pocket and more in the drawer. And after awhile I forgot about it unless I stumbled over it while looking for something else.

I didn't know much about the coin when I bought it. The certificate of authenticity said that the metal was bronze, and that the head of Zeus was represented on one side, with two eagles on a thunderbolt on the other. It took me awhile to make out Zeus's head. He is in profile, his facial features on the right. You can click on the photo for a larger view. The certificate also said that the coin was minted during the reign of Ptolemy II who ruled from 283 to 246 BC. Egypt's glory days were a thousand years past by then, but I didn't care; it was still an ancient Egyptian coin and predated Cleopatra and Marc Anthony by 200 years. 

I was interested in learning more about the coin, and in doing internet research discovered that there were four mints producing coins during Ptolemy's reign, but that only one of them, located in the city of Tyre, now in present day Lebanon made double eagle coins.

I had learned where and when the coin was made, but what still puzzled me was the indentation in the center of both sides of the coin. By a stroke of luck I learned that the holes resulted from a polishing process in the final stage of production. A tool very similar to a flat-bladed wood drill bit was used to polish the coin and remove any rough edges. The holes were made by the center index of the tool. 

When we moved to Peru in 2008 the coin went with us. Maribel had brought her jewelry with her but it occurred to me that she didn't have anything that looked Peruvian, so on a whim one day I sat down and designed a necklace and earrings that I thought sort of looked Peruvian. In the nearby town of Monsefu there are some excellent artisans working with gold and silver. And the cost of their work is ridiculously inexpensive compared to USA prices. So we took the design to one of them. Two weeks later the set was ready.

We were more than satisfied with his work. A week later when I came across the Egyptian coin again, I immediately thought of that silversmith. The coin deserved more than siting in a drawer. If we could incorporate it into a piece of jewelry it would see the light of day again, hopefully being appreciated by those who noticed it (and if they didn't notice it I would tell them!).

Two days later we were back at the silversmith, and this was the result.

We chose a copper setting and chain because we felt it matched better with the coin than gold or silver would have. Maribel wore it for awhile but gradually it became relegated to her jewelry box. It was too heavy for her to wear comfortably, and it swung clumsily with every movement. I felt like I was failing this coin and the people who had been a part of its 2,300 year history. Who knows what path it had traveled from Tyre to that Milwaukee department store, and how many locations it has seen, and how many people had transported it during during the trip? Since I've had it, it's been in six different towns. So what to do? 

I recently built a wall curio shelf, and we've decided that the coin belongs on that shelf. It took about a week to arrive at a design to hold the coin that we both liked.

The pyramid and base are wood, with the pyramid painted ivory to simulate the plaster covering on the original pyramids, and the base painted light brown to resemble sand. The reverse side of the coin is visible on the other side of the display. The engraved plate contains all the necessary information.

We know the coin has 2,300 years of history. We can't know about its distant future but as of this moment in time we feel that it's in a good setting and that we're doing our part as members of a chain of past and future guardians. 

   

Her name was Candy

Thinking back to my old deer hunting camp, I remembered an amusing incident that happened one night at a bar. I'd like to write about it but the problem is that it was sixty years ago, and while I remember the salient points, I've forgotten much of the detail. But I do have the urge to write about it so to provide continuity to the story I'm going to fill in the gaps in memory with what I think probably happened. As a result some of what follows is fact, some is guesswork. But it's not too far off the mark.

Her name was Candy...Candy Barr. That was probably her stage name. I never did know her real name. Doesn't make any difference. A name is no big thing. You need a name to get a driver license, vote, and receive social security. You need a name to put on your grave marker. It goes slightly above or below "The Lord is my Shepherd", depending on your preference, or more likely the preference of whoever is putting you in the hole.

The first time I saw Candy was in a Wisconsin north woods tavern during deer hunting season. This would have been about 1960 or so. There were always a few tavern owners who hired strippers for the nine-day season to get as many hunters as possible into their bar at night. Lin, me and the rest of our guys were seated at a table not far from the make-shift stage where Candy was doing her routine accompanied by the stripper's national anthem, "If you want it, here it is, come and get it." We were talking about the new rifle John had brought to camp. It was a Browning 30-06 BAR camel back design. I didn't like it but wouldn't say that to John who had spent a bundle on his new pride and joy. Anyway, we suddenly heard Candy say in a loud voice, "It seems to me that the boys at that table (ours) would rather see a man up here taking off his clothes. I and the others just laughed, but Lin, never one to take an insult said, "Well perhaps if you would come up with something other than the same old bumps and grinds we would show some interest." Some guys at another table took exception to Lin's comment. A big beefy guy shouted that Lin should apologize to the lady. Knowing Lin, I had the feeling things were about to get ugly.

Fights were not common during deer season in taverns in those days but they did happen. Often the cause was about shooting a doe. If I remember correctly a camp with a minimum of four hunters could apply for a doe permit for 'camp meat.' Old timers believed you were hurting the deer population by shooting does, no matter what those young whippersnappers in the Conservation Department were saying. Our camp always got a permit, and always shot a doe. Venison is venison in my book. 

Another bone of contention could be a discussion about the best caliber for hunting. Shortly after the Korean War the government dumped a lot of .30 caliber carbines on the market. Most hunters thought the gun should be outlawed for hunting because it wasn't powerful enough to cleanly kill a deer. I agreed with that. I shot that rifle many times while in the army and didn't like it. Sure, it was short, light and easy to carry but I wouldn't want to stake my life on it. Mostly it was issued to officers and support units. Support units were ordnance companies, headquarters companies and all the other REMFs (rear echelon mother f______). The infantry units carried the M1 Garand. Now that was a rifle. It weighed 9 1/2 pounds, was 43 1/2 inches long and was 30-06 caliber. It took care of business. It was eventually replaced by the M14, the only differences being a built-in flash deflector and magazine fed instead of clip fed. But you probably don't care about that.

Getting back to the story, Lin shouts back at Mr. Beefy that it's none of his business and he should keep his mouth shut. So the guy stands up, inhaling as much air as possible to make himself look bigger and more threatening. So Lin gets up but he don't have to inhale to look threatening. He stands 6'3'', weighs 235 and is built like a fireplug. The other guy can see that, but what he can't see is that Lin can hit with either hand harder than a mule kicks. He can lift the state of Rhode Island. And he loves to fight, something his mild-mannered parents could never understand. As both men start walking toward each other, the group at the other guy's table stands up. Our guys got no choice but to back Lin's play so we stand up, and I'm thinking here we go! The bar tender starting yelling that everybody should relax, but it was Candy who diffused the situation. She shouted out, "Boys, sit down! Ain't nobody insulted no one!" That big voice coming out of that little biddy body took everybody by surprise. We all sat down, but not without both groups making our most fierce expressions at each other. Candy resumed her routine, we applauded, pounded on the table and wolf whistled, and everyone was happy.

Later, after the place had emptied out some and Candy had changed into regular clothing and had taken a seat at the bar I bought her a drink. I told her I was impressed with how she had taken charge of the situation and asked if she had experienced that before. I don't remember what she said. The rest of the conversation was normal small talk until she started telling me about her personal life. She lived in Milwaukee, was divorced, and worked in the jewelry section of Gimbels Department Store. She said each deer season she worked a gig as a stripper because it added something different and sort of exciting to what she said was a dull life, and it paid pretty good. Soon I was telling her about my life and it felt like we were becoming friends.

A couple nights later we were back at the bar. So far, except for the camp deer none of us had shot a buck, and with only one day remaining the odds of getting one were slim, so we talked about what we could do differently next year. Later Candy and I talked a bit but it was brief, I guess because we had said all there was to say previously. As she prepared to leave she said over her shoulder, "See you next year" and I responded with, "Let me know where you're working", each of us knowing that wasn't going to happen.

A few years later I was at Milwaukee's South Ridge Mall when I heard someone behind me shout out hey! I turned around and there was Candy. With her was a boy of about 8 years. She had forgotten my name, and I thought it prudent not to call her Candy in front of the boy. She asked how I was doing, and volunteered that she was happily married to a great guy, was still working at Gimbels, and had stopped "making trips up north." I told her that our camp had broken up and I hadn't been up north much either.

I could see that Candy was happy with her life. I was glad for her. After a few more minutes we said our goodbyes. I never saw her again.

About legacies

I mentioned in the previous post that I like to sit in the back yard and think. One of the themes I keep coming back to in that yard is the passage of time, and within that concept people, places and things. According to the Social Security Actuarial Life Table I have 8.88 years remaining. By my calculations that means approximately 91% of my life is behind me. It also means that many of the people, places and things I knew no longer exist. 

A few years ago I was having a conversation with Maribel's son. He commented that he had lost contact with many of his early childhood friends; found that to be surprising and a little sad, and asked if I had had that same experience. I answered with an analogy.

Imagine that you are a bus driver. In the early stage of your career your bus is always full and you become familiar with many of the regular passengers. In the middle years your buss is still full, but you become aware that quite a few of your regular passengers no longer ride your bus. In the later years, where I am now, you turn around and see that there is only a handful of passengers, and none of them are long-time riders. In my view everyone we knew, all the things we did, everything we felt and believed constitute who we are today. And everyone of those old faces that got off my bus took a part of my identity with them. What remains are memories. I see two types of memories; shared memories where the people, places and things that were part of a memory still exist, and personal memories, where I am all that is left. 

Sitting in the back yard I think back to my deer hunting companions and our north woods camp. Year after year we'd meet for a week of hunting, drinking and card playing. It was always a bit nostalgic when the week was over and we all packed up and headed our separate ways. They are all gone now. One is buried in a tiny off-the-road cemetery in Michigan's upper peninsula, another in a small Wisconsin town on the Mississippi River, two are buried in Milwaukee, and one was cremated; his ashes in an urn that will probably become a flower pot in one or two generations. None of them were notable and will quickly be forgotten. They were notable to me. I still remember them. I don't have a religious belief, but on a fall day toward sunset in my back yard I like to think that they're somewhere sitting around that cabin kitchen table drinking beer and playing poker, and saying to me, "Tom, your chair is here when you're ready."

I wonder...is it important to be remembered?  Is it important to leave some sort of legacy behind in the hope that you won't be forgotten? I guess maybe those are personal questions requiring personal answers. I wonder how Susan Hayward would answer them?  If you're under sixty or maybe even seventy you probably don't know who she is, or was. In the late forty's through the fifty's she was about as big as you could get in Hollywood. She starred in a ton of movies with most of Hollywood's leading men. She was a celebrity with a capital C. She had it all...fame, fortune and a very happy married life. Today her remains are buried in a tiny cemetery in a tiny Georgia town not forty minutes from my house. She is gone and forgotten; what I call dead-dead, as opposed to Marilyn  Monroe who is alive-dead. Marilyn died thirteen years before Susan but for whatever reasons we won't let her go. I guess that maybe sex-appeal is a powerful legacy.

Going back to the Social Security Actuarial Life Table and the 8.88 years I have remaining to me, my intention is to spend them in an alive-alive condition. Sure, I'm experiencing some of those 'gifts' that come with the 'golden years'. I wear hearing aids, have arthritis in all the usual places, have had cataract surgery in both eyes, had a knee replacement and am dealing with high blood pressure but I am in no way physically or mentally incapacitated and can truthfully say that I have enjoyed my life more in the past fifteen years than I ever did before. And as far as a legacy, who knows, maybe this blog will be mine. 

What to do on a day in Northwest Georgia

In previous posts I've tried to describe the physical geography and culture of the area we now call home. What I'd like to do now is narrow the focus and talk about how we spend our time on a typical day.

Number one, I'm not an early riser. I used to be. It was the norm for me to be in the office at 5:30 AM during my working days. And I enjoyed it. Now I look back and ask myself if it was worth it. These days I get up somewhere between 7:00 and 8:00. Maribel is always up before me, with fresh coffee already made. During the next few hours we'll have a simple breakfast, read the news, complete our exercise routines, shower and dress for whatever the afternoon holds. 

We rarely plan what we're going to do with the rest of the day. One of us will suggest something and we do it. We like to visit the many antique stores in the area. I should make a distinction here. Some of them are antique stores, others are junk shops. All in our opinion are worth visiting. One of our favorites is Dirty Jane's Antiques in Chattanooga. The inventories in these places turn over quickly so it's a rare week that we don't visit two or more stores. Usually we'll find a treasure or two. Four minor pieces of furniture in our house came from such stores. Other days find us walking around downtown Chattanooga. The downtown area is not very big and in a way is disappointing to us. We'd like to see a long, tree lined main street with benches, lots of boutiques, restaurants and novelty shops. Chattanooga doesn't have that. Broad Street, which is the 'main drag' is actually dull, but what it does have is a compact, renovated downtown that is modern, attractive and worth spending an afternoon checking out. 

Often we'll spend an afternoon in Chattanooga's Hamilton Place shopping complex. It consists of a modern mall surrounded by many of the big name retailers and restaurants. It is supposedly the largest shopping complex in the state of Tennessee. And it's a twenty minute drive from our house. The city of Fort Oglethorpe is only ten minutes away and also has big name retailers and restaurants. 

Another favorite activity is walking and we have three good options for doing that. In Chattanooga the Tennessee River Walk is a hard-surface multi-use trail that borders the Tennessee River. It is I believe fourteen miles long, extending from downtown Chattanooga to the Chickamauga dam. It's a beautiful trail to walk and seldom crowded. Fort Oglethorpe has a much shorter but interesting trail to walk. It's only a five minute drive from our house and is our second favorite place to be at sunset. Our favorite is one of the many forest paths in the Chickamauga National Military Park. The header photo of this blog is from that park. This place deserves a post of its own so I wont go into detail on it now.

One other activity, and probably our favorite is to take a day-trip to one of the hundreds of small towns in Georgia, Tennessee and Alabama. Each town usually has a main square surrounded by shops, offices and restaurants. Typically in the center of the square is an old building of note. The majority also have an old railroad depot museum. Whether they are worthy of the name 'museum' is a matter of personal opinion but most of them have something of interest. We enjoy checking out all the stores, and always look for a locally owned restaurant to have lunch. Some of our favorite memories are of these restaurants. By the way, a day trip for us is three hours one way. Anything over that is motel time.

We don't do everything together. Maribel has a network of friends she will occasionally go to lunch with, and there are days when I'm feeling lazy so she will take the car and go off by herself. I actually look forward to those times because I can do one of my favorite activities; work in the backyard, or just sit in front of a fire in the grill and think. I admit that as I've gotten older I've gotten more sedentary. For me it is a real pleasure to just sit in that yard, listen to the birds, smell nature's aromas and think about things in general or reminisce about days gone by. And if it's warm and the sun is setting and I've got a beer in my hand, so much the better. 

The tree on the left is a cedar, that in the center is a seventy-five foot slash pine. You need to click on the photo to see things more clearly. On the right is a water oak with a four and one-half foot diameter. It is old and is constantly dropping branches and sometimes sizable limbs that I can hear crash to the ground from inside the house. In the fall it drops a billion tiny acorns, which the squirrels, chipmunks and blue jays love, but I could do without. I would gladly trade that tree for a northern white or red oak. In the distance are groves of pecan, walnut and chestnut trees. Just to the left of the oak are two chairs, a table and the grill. If Maribel and I are not out and about, the chair on the left is where you'll find me on a warm Georgia afternoon.